Brocade and Blood: 105th Hunger Games
by addicted-roxe
Summary: The games for the Capitol children. One tribute will rise and the other twenty three will die. Die and Die and Die.Guaranteed with fast-paced action. ***CLOSED*** readers are loved!
1. Tribute Form

Disclaimer: I do not own Hunger Games.

First of all, I would like to point out that I will promise to complete this story. And I do not go back on promises. I am only making this story because I need to exercise my writing skills and practice plot making, action and character development so I can continue on another story I will be publishing.

If you don't review or be active, the more likely your character will die soon and possibly in the bloodbath. Leaving reviews, PMs and additional ideas to the story after each chapter will increase your character's chance on staying long in the games.

Sponsor System: if I like your character and you are very active, I'll give your character sponsored things.

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**Summary:**

_Katniss Everdeen had sealed the decision of making the very last Hunger Games and playing with Capitol children thirty years ago. Unfortunately, the districts' lust for revenge and blood of their past persecutors increased. They enjoyed how they suffer. Thirty years later, the Hunger Games was never abolished._

_And this time, the Capitol children will be its victims._

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Before you fill out the form, **READ THIS**:

They are Capitol children. Try to base your character with their culture and fashion. Remember that their fashion is _eccentric_ and _crazy_. Red Skin, artificial cat eyes, face tattoos, glow in the dark hair etc. Try to make them as crazy as possible but make them still sound pretty. You can create a character that looks like Cinna-not that all crazy, simple and has this nice gold tattoo in his face.

As for names, it wouldn't hurt to research. The Capitol names in the book are derived from Shakespearean names, Roman or Greek names, Gods and Godesses and some inanimate objects like Snow. As you know, Capitol people live in luxury, so they're materialistic at times.

And lastly, **CAREERS**. It's been thirty years, I think some would have made a career out of the Hunger Games. Don't make too many. **5-6 max**.

And REMEMBER: their lives are completely urban.

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**Tribute form:**

Name:

Age:

Gender:

Family Occupation:

Appearance:

Personality description:

Background information of character/ life or history:

Friends/Family:

Token:

Reaction on reaping:

Strengths:

Weaknesses:

**Other questions about your characters will be asked later in the story.**

_**Make it descriptive! Seriously. Or I will kill your characters.**_


	2. Final LIST!

Final list! these are the people who did what I asked them to do.

anyway, congratulations if your character made it. I will be writing 10 minutes from now.

**Male (12/12)**

Xavier Heart-

Demicus Magnus-

Kaimu Rulola-

Zephyr Troy-

Niccolo Machiavelli-

Daedalus :Dae" Crane

Lorenzo Cazment-

Saxon "Blackout"-

Luce Evory-

Tybalt Cross-

Apollo Jolt-

Cray Boastling-

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**Female (12/12)**

Jewel Rose Forester-

Sapphire Evans-

Atlanta Greenfield

Ayssa Gamble-

Cordelia Bertram-

Velia Monfreya-

Melinoe Reese-

Charmaine Ariel Haas-

Cat Takayama-

Gamma Iquera Envis-

Cirstea Serantos-

Sisu Alros-


	3. Reapings 1

Author's Note: Hello! I was supposed to make this for 6 tributes but then it got long so I made it for four tributes. Expect the next to be 6.

And I want to remind you that the more you review, the longer your tribute will stand in the Games.

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**Note: the capitol is a home to powerful Capitol and district people.**

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**The Capitol**

**History**

The Capitol was thriving of moneyed businessmen, valuable politicians, renowned gamblers and prideful aristocrats, either coming from a pure descendant of the capitol or from a far away district. If you weren't a company owner, you were a company worker. If aren't a gambler, you'd be the one gambled. If you aren't a powerful aristocrat, you'd be a powerless butler. After the rebellion, the Capitol was only a place for men who earned a place in high society and their servants, the rest that goes in the middle spilled over the districts.

The Capitol was a superior Metropolis, governing over all twelve districts and reigning with the thirteenth. Ex-president Paylor constituted that the Capitol were to work with District 13, the district with a powerful military system. The rest of the districts had their needs guaranteed by both. And thirty years later, all districts and Capitol had been living in total equality.

Except for the Hunger Games.

It turned out that the districts of Panem did not want equality. They wanted satisfaction. Katniss Everdeen had sealed the decision thirty years ago to make one last Hunger Games for Capitol children for hopes that the districts will have their thirst of revenge quenched. Unfortunately, it only made their blood thirst for the enemy grow. When the government council (made of one representative for each district and one for the Capitol) announced that there will only be one Games, Panem rampaged. And only one thing can calm them down.

The reincarnation of the suicidal games.

Did Miss Everdeen ever regret?

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**The Capitol**

**Reapings, Center Square**

Phebe Stunn stood solely in the stage. Her stage. The setting of the drama she will pioneer and the core of the greenery of money she will be supplied. She was as selfish woman and she loved it. After ten years of merciless violence that she sat by and watched with the kids she knew so well, she didn't care now. Money weighed more than her own people. And money will always flood right in her palms as long as she stays unfalteringly energetic and static onstage.

Seven sections spread across the center square, 12 to 18 years old. She quietly scowled at the sight of the kids, not because of predicted deaths but that they wore the same resplendent blue hair and she couldn't stand that they looked better on them. Then she flipped her hair and cued backstage for the ceremony to start.

The heavy sounds of the trumpets echoed in open air and she could see everyone shift. They were nervous. Some are shaking grotesquely, others are trying to keep their head high and a few are just staring at the government council who were climbing the steep stairs of the stage, fake grins plastered across their faces. Not all of the council are enjoying the games, to the exception of District 3 and 11 representatives who believed the children deserved it.

They each took turns reading paragraphs of the "new" history of Panem and quite dignified at that. When they were done, they stepped down the mammoth stage and took their seats at the first front of the audience.

"Good evening to all!" Phebe leaped gracefully to the wooden floor covering of the stage, appearing like a cross between a swan and a frog.

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"Where should we start? Ladies or gentlemen?" a man pushed two wheeled columns that carried the two reaping balls and place them at both flanks of Phebe who was now gesturing to the crowd which to pick first. "Ladies?" she asked and the crowd roared, answering.

"And a lady shall it be!" she placed a bony hand into the round glass and made suspenseful glance to the audience, making them shift more in restrained fear. Her talon-like nails caught a piece of scribbled paper and she lifted it, looking for a name.

"Uh-oh. I guess we all know her!" she let out a high-pitched laugh which was followed by a snort. "My people, welcome Ayssa Gamble!"

A girl stepped out from the 18-section, her emotion, vague from the plastered pokerface enhanced by multiple face alterations but the crowd all knows what the Gamble daughter is feeling. If she could move her brows, it would be arched down in a manner of destructing anger and if her eyes weren't pitch black, you could see them narrow to the host.

She sauntered her way to the stage, she did not need to push the crowd to make way because they are doing it voluntarily. No, no, not for respect or pity but for satisfaction and laughable fate. She may be in a high place of society but not a daughter of a reputable man. Her father, profession gambler and casino owner, Ayssa helped him all her life to cheat the money away from half-witted, gullible men. But Ha! What money she extracted with those thick-headed men! They can't even look after their own cards! And to those who do, she only needed her lustful charms to sway them out of the game.

And Panem knows her just for that. That's what her face says, a symbol of a playing card ace drawn across her impeccably Botoxed face.

She climbs up, her eyes unomving and cold to the extended arm of Phebe Stunn, thinking of her as an absurd Capitol woman. When she finally reached her, the crowd roars in applaud and it did not even felt forced. That lying, self-serving whore of a young girl can rot in the exuding inferno of the gamemakers for all they care. But Ayssa doesn't care and the only thing she can feel is the constant and continuous laugh of the host and the irritation that it brings. To her frustration, she faces the woman of blue hair and big bobbing eyes and made a fistful punch to her idiotic face. "Why me?" she screamed high-pitched scream.

The crowd could not move by static surprise of the bloodied nose of the host.

_So much for looks_.

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The crowd returned to its nervous state after the recuperation of Stunn. They shift lightly back and forth as she places her fingers in between of a paper, now in forced vivaciousness and energy. "The gentleman is..." her voice was light contrasting to the suspense, "Saxon Avrid!"

A tall boy of obsidian black hair and sarcastic smile walks forward from a dark section of a group of trees. He didn't even bother to join his respected section. But why would he? He was not a man of the law and not a man of fairness either. When the light shone through his face, the rest of the audience looked toward Saxon. At first, they only subdued him with anger that he did not join his section then wondered how he could have escaped the peacekeepers. But the intelligent ones only stared him at faint recognition. Black hair, piercing blue eyes that could cut like a knife and movements only a thief could have.

"Saxon Avrid, his name was it?" a man asked the crowd. The peacemakers, now getting the idea, seized and overpowered him. But the boy only seemed emotionless and unphazed. He was a thief, top of the wanted list of head peacemakers and a dangerous surge of criminal activity known as Blackout. He is called Blackout because that is often the last things his victims see before they find their stores completely cleaned out of merchandise.

Being a boy who escaped the most dangerous of all law enforcers, he could have had escaped Hunger Games and not even bother to show up. But a life of thievery did not supply the violence he wanted to play Panem and his pursuers with. Two peacemakers grappled him up to the stage. Once they were up, he caught a small whisper under the breath of a peacemaker, "Give us the honor to see you die. Blackout."

When they release him, Phebe Stunn did not bother shaking his hand, in fear that he might physically harass her too and his atmosphere was frightening anyways. So they both just stand there. She's giving the crowd a dynamic smile and he's giving them a cold icy stare of daggers.

"Saxon Avrid as Male tribute!"

No more childish games, he'll _steal_ lives this time.

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"Now that shall be the first pair!" she fills the air in an infectious laugh, her brightness is contrasting to the melancholic air of the audience. "I wonder who will be the second," she sings.

Beneath the crowd, a small girl of everything blue is constantly prying her teal fingernails in the soil, a habit of nervousness. Her long blue hair fell down to her shoulders, hiding her crystal blue eyes and her long blue snake tattooed at the side of her face. She's an exalted version of a luxuriously living little miss blue muffet. She prayed multiple times in her head for her name not to be called, her eyes unmoving to the ground, unable to take in the suspense.

"Which name? Which name?" Phebe still sings as her fingers gingerly grip a small piece of paper buried under other thousands. As she unfold the paper, a name spread across her eyes and in cue, she announces a name. "Sapphire Evans!"

Then almost like a beat of a drum, the small girl gulped. Her knees could not carry her and her bright blue hair was soaked with her own tears. "Me?" she would not move but the crowd automatically shoved her to the stage. "I cannot," she pleaded, half of her head filled with dread and the other was going through thoughts of her own family. She was just a little girl or at least she felt like it in the age of fourteen. She was this sweet girl that went all around the streets asking everyone if they visit their tattoo shop; she'll give them free tattoos. But she felt like in her state, her makeup half destroyed and she was in no dignified disposition, she let her family name down.

As she climbed through the steps of the stairs, her feet slipped in one of the slippery moss sections and tripped with her own feet. "Awww," she groaned in pain and embarrassment as now she fell down the stairs and was lying on the ground. It was a grotesque trip, she looked unfathomably comical.

She lived as a daughter of a respected family. This was supposed to be none of what she should have carried her family name. And as she thought of her family more, Kora, her bestfriend, a realization comes clearer into her cerebrum. Optimism clouded most of her sense and she stood up. Not with her head down, but gracefully and smiling. She stared at the crowd, she thought of how she CAN. Dignity and confidence were now her stars. If she could win or if she tried to win, people would not look to her with pity but with an elevation of commanding bravery and a character of competence. Now what would they think of her family now?

As she climbed again to the forsaken stairs, she held her back erect until she did not look like a mere pittance. Her face was strong in determination, her eyes fierce and her blue hair stupendously soaked in tears made her look as if she was a mermaid out of sea.

Now do you see? Ambition makes people _beautiful_.

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"What nice little lady, no?" Phebe danced around in high kinetic energy stamped in her brain stem, she looked at Sapphire with brightness and gives her a nod, "which gentleman shall accompany you now?"

With great animation, she buried her bony hand inside the reaping ball, waiting as if she will magically feel the destined name. When she was satisfied, she takes out a name and showed faint recognition. "Look who it is! The Machiavellian son. Niccolo Machiavelli!"

The only thing that Niccolo thought of doing after he heard his name was to laugh. It was an odd twist of fate. Maybe the universe was on his side today and what great blessing it is. He always wanted to volunteer but that was not on his enterprise. He was an heir of a high-society business and was forbidden to die. Hunger Games was much too risky for his parents. But he was chosen out of the thousands, truly its fate, is it not?

But his parents predictably would have hired another boy to volunteer if ever he was reaped. He climbed up the stage, his gaze cold and unforgiving. His eyes were fleeting through the crowd to look for a hand that would raise and once he caught a boy with his hand halfway to raising (probably the hired boy), he menacingly stared with daggers, "Don't dare. I'll have you killed," he mouthed. The boy shivered and restrained his hand. Niccolo grinned.

His skin was dyed jet black and his hair in red with undertones of orange, yellow and a little blue so it almost looks like it was made from fire. He wanted to intimidate. He wanted to look Machiavellian as possible. It was in his name. And with Hunger Games, he'll win and they'll die. He can degrade them, crash them down and even kill themselves with a pinch of talent of words.

_Because he's a snake and he knows it_.

**What do you think? I like Sapphire Evans' part!**


	4. Reapings 2

**Author's Note: Ok. I said that I was going to write about 6 tributes in this chapter but I did not. I'm sorry I updated late, I needed to study Chemistry and its alkali metals. **_**'sighs'**_

**Also, I will not be writing reapings the next chapter. I'm getting tired of good old Phebe Stunn. Too bubbly for me. Now, don't fret! I will introduce the remaining characters by the 'farewells' part. You know, where the tribute says goodbye to family and friends. And after that, I will introduce other characters in their interviews in the justice building ****after the reaping****. Ok, if you ask: they have interviews? Yes they do. In the book, Collins was describing how Peeta was crying so much when they were interviewing him after he was called in the reaping. NOTE! It's not the official interviews they have those with Caesar Flickerman! It's the one AFTER THE REAPING.**

**What do you think?**

**...**

She stared at the woman with the great blue hair. Her constant static smile only looked toxic to the girl. She watched her delicate, flawless hands make their way to the glass ball and for once, she prayed, she prayed to the gods in the universe that it won't be her. "And for the third girl to walk in this stage for the honor..." Phebe roared at the audience, her voice making an impact to the open air, "who will it be?"

_Who will it be?_ The Capitol asked themselves. Phebe answered with sing-song voice, "Sisu Alros! Everybody!"

The young girl could only choke on her own tears. Her prayers went against her and she wasn't ready for death. For a moment, she thought that she could hide in the crowd; pretend that she was not Sisu Alros. Not many knew her anyways; she was always hidden in that godforsaken mansion, quietly doing her chores and allowing herself to be bossed around by despicable co-servants. She could have fought back and would have, if only she had the blessing of voice.

She was mute.

"Come now, sweetheart." Phebe fleeted her eyes through the anticipating crowd, she can't see the girl, "where are you?"

She fell down to her knees, clutching her cotton dress until her knuckles turned white. When a boy about her age, 14, realized that with her grieving tears that she was the reaped girl, he shoved her up. "Are you that girl?" he asked in a hostile tone of voice. She couldn't reply. She never knew how. Being one of the several illegitimate daughters of an influential politician, she was always hated. Her disability made them think she was stupid and illiterate. In fact, working as a maid in her father's mansion, they always implied that she was an avox.

Why don't they look at her tongue first? She _still_ has a tongue.

The boy gripped her and shoved her to the stage. Then he laughed, "good luck with your fate, you wretched squatter." She glanced at him in damned tears. She faced Phebe next. She's going to die anyways and will fail at life. As she, step by step, worked her way in the stairs, she only wished for one thing. And this time, she wished the gods will answer her.

She wanted to be _strong_.

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Phebe Stunn swayed her hips, all the energy in the world was bursting through her. Pitiful girls had crossed her stage, it gets annoying after a while. What happened to feminism? She automatically places her hand inside the reaping ball; it was like a reflex now. After she drew out a name, she faced the crowd and with great suspense, she announced, "The boy who shall participate is...Apollo Jolt!"

The announcement was then followed by an outcry of gasps. The boy of 16 years was obviously known and not for the high society reputation his family earned as renowned interior designers, of course not. His reputation was by his own doing. And it was the women who they had caught an eye on him. Consequentially, it was the women who owned the gasps. Apollo though, as the young girls wouldn't have thought, he was shaking quite terribly. His enhanced, flawless features were overshadowed with terror. He was one of those who were shaking grotesquely.

He was a social being, the life of the party and a manipulator of women but he wasn't a contender of the games. He just carried all his life an invisible crown and of course, magnificent sex appeal. But he's not smart and he knows that. Several stared at disbelief and he could even hear them swear under their breaths. He could still think straight enough to understand the whimpers were the damned women who are heartbroken that he will never be under their bed sheets again. How dismal, really. He didn't really care about them.

But the shock in his body was so great that his knees were numb while climbing his way to the stairs. Phebe extended an arm for help, her brilliant eyes adoring such handsome young boy. "Sweet, don't you worry."

She was only saying that because she was a woman_._

_But he was a man for all women._

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She was a young girl of fame, of fur coats, of cigars and alcohol. Her life was pioneered by the half-witted, moronic media of the Capitol and beyond that, she was no one. Cordelia Betram was only a woman of celebrity status, a luxurious doll decked by her father to gain a farther elite status as an influential politician. He would train her to look superior, hold her head high and her back erect in the most dignified manner. This was until she became a famous socialite, a young girl of self-possession, confidence and dignity.

She watched as the woman of many capitol enhancements and blue hair leaped across the stage and trying to excite the audience. She was charismatic but she also did look stupid with overjoyed movements. Cordelia's mind whooshed and whooshed and buzzed. She can't even keep her balance. Her body swayed left and right and she wasn't even aware that the people around her were getting irritated. When her body finally gained balance, she had the most terrible, terrible headache of her life. Ugh, it wasn't like she still didn't get used to it. Being drunk felt good. She had drunk too many bottles and she didn't care. It wasn't like she would do something stupid when she was in influence with liquor. No, she's used to it.

Phebe lifted a name and spread the audience a great ludicrous smile. "A lovely young girl has been reaped," she roared which was followed by an infectious laugh, "who could it be?" Her words triggered an air of suspense and the air was shadowed with silence.

"Elerrine Caster!"

Cordelia watched as a girl of 12 climb the stage which was twenty times as big as her. She was in a daze; the shock was probably too much for her. As she shook the hand of Phebe's extended arm, she turned almost pale as a ghost. It was like she just suddenly realized she was going to die. But who would not feel such terror when Phebe's eyes were eating her. When the blue-haired woman was about to announce Elerrine as tribute, she heard a faint voice from the crowd.

"I volunteer."

Cordelia didn't know how it happened. She had lost most of her sense and the liquor was heaving hard into her brain worse than she imagined. She just realized she had climbed through the stairs and she was arm to arm with the host. "Finally! Some feminism you showed me!" she told Cordelia with great animation in her face. She could not realize the girl was not in her proper mind, no one did. Her father's training taught her how to facade anything with a sole dignified face.

But what would her father think now? This was public mistake. She was a contender of political parties, theatre shows and extensive schools brought by the need of adapting to the social network her parents built. She wasn't a competitor of life and death!

"Cordelia Betram as female tribute!"

She was a woman of fame, of fur coats, of cigars and alcohol. _But she was not a woman of death_.

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Luce Evory cursed and cursed and cursed under his breath. You could feel the tension in his words. _What the fucking hell_? He watched as Cordelia made her way to the stage and to her predicted death. Why couldn't she just stay put beside him? Why did she have to escape and wander off to her fancy street pubs? She made such a moronic mistake and she wasn't conscious enough to realize it. No one seemed to know that she was in influence of alcohol, something she was greatly trained at, but he could know. He was her personal guardian.

_Hired_ guardian.

He watched as both women onstage shone such magnetic smiles. Then she exited the stage, her head still high with unwavering dignity and drunkenness. Both of his parents sold Luce to the Bertram family due to an exorbitant amount of debts to the said family. He was still as fresh in seven years old when he was sent to protect Cordelia who was being pursued by hitmen of the Bertrams' enemies. He was trained. He served her like another servant. He guided her when she was riding her horses. He made sure her dress never touched mud. He protected her when she was harassed by thick-headed camera men. He brought her home whenever she was drunk. He hated his life.

He hated her.

And now he watched how Phebe Stunn takes a hand to the reaping ball, "Which gentleman is next?" The audience shifted uncomfortably again. It was time for suspense again. He didn't know how this woman lived ten years of reaping children who would die. But she did. And now he knows what responsibility he would have to take.

If he did not protect her at the games her family would have had blamed him that it would be his fault for her death. They would accuse him of letting her die. If they do, being a powerful family that they are, have him and have his family executed. He could not let that happen. He loved his family to much. He will have to volunteer for that woman of a bitch.

The next time he opened his mouth, two words came out.

"_I volunteer."_

**I love the Sisu Alros part! Which do you like?**

**And please do not just give 'I love this chappie', I really appreciate criticizes.**


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